


One of the Lights

by lastdream



Series: Revolutionary Vampires [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Drinking, Canon Era, M/M, Masochism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:18:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3617922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastdream/pseuds/lastdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to A Little Bit of Truth. Porn, angst, and a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was really quite determined to fish all my titles out of Dracula, so here goes: “There are darknesses in life, and there are lights; you are one of the lights.”

Grantaire eases awake to the warm sensation of Enjolras mouthing at the back of his neck. They have shared a bed for almost a week now, and the absent gravitation of Enjolras’s teeth to Grantaire’s neck has been a pleasant fixture in bed. Especially asleep, Enjolras cannot seem to keep away.

He does not seem to realize that he is being a dreadful tease.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire says quietly, not sure if he is awake. There is no response except a lethargic shifting of weight behind Grantaire’s back. He is asleep, then. Grantaire fits himself more snugly against the shape of his lover’s body and relishes the warmth. He drifts easily between waking and sleeping.

He is almost completely asleep when Enjolras shifts again, this time to open his mouth against Grantaire’s throat. His teeth are subconsciously sharpened. In the space of a moment Grantaire becomes completely aware and almost completely hard. Those two sharp points on his skin are maddening with the lightness of their touch and their threat of more.

Grantaire whimpers quietly.

“Enjolras, please wake up,” he says more loudly. Enjolras doesn’t stir. His teeth still press into Grantaire’s skin. Grantaire knows he could probably try harder to awaken his lover, but he needs something to hurt him as soon as possible, and Enjolras always has difficulty falling asleep a second time. He casts about desperately.

His own teeth? Not the right kind of sharp. Dull impact? Too loud, and too likely to wake Enjolras. His fingernails? He keeps them short, but maybe—

Grantaire reaches down to his bare cock and strokes it once, twice with the pads of his fingers. The pleasure is nice, but he wants something else. He takes a deep breath and curls his fingers further, so the nails are resting on the delicate skin. The threat makes his breath catch.

He strokes once, experimentally, with his fingernails scratching lightly over his cock. It is such an intimate pain; it shivers through him deliciously and he wonders why he had not tried it before. He scratches again, harder— too hard. The feeling is too intense for Grantaire to distinguish between pain and pleasure. He arches and writhes, not sure if he is trying to move into the feeling or away from it. 

The movement causes him to push back on Enjolras’s teeth.

“Enjolras!” he cannot help but cry out. 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras says quickly. Grantaire feels a little guilty for jolting him from sleep. “Did I— did I bite you in my sleep?” Enjolras sounds as guilty as Grantaire feels, and that is unacceptable.

“No, I was trying to— to touch myself, and I couldn’t stay still… Did it break the skin?”

“Only a little.” Enjolras gently laps at the place his teeth had been, a delicious scrape over torn skin that makes Grantaire shiver. “Do you want me to drink?”

“Are you thirsty?”

“It has only been a few days… I don’t think I have ever been this well fed, before you.”

“Oh, alright,” Grantaire says, trying not to sound disappointed. He cannot expect Enjolras to give him that perfect biting pain every time he needs something to hurt. 

“I wasn’t saying no, love.” Enjolras sounds amused. “How do you want me?”

Grantaire can barely consider the question, faced with the prospect of getting whatever he asks for. In the end, there is only one answer he can give.

“On top of me, and— and fuck me at the same time?”

“That sounds lovely,” Enjolras says, laying Grantaire flat on his back. Then he climbs over him with a gentle kiss, followed by a much less gentle kiss. His teeth break the skin of Grantaire’s lip in two paces, eliciting a shudder and a groan. A gentle swipe of his tongue is enough to close the cuts, so that he can reopen them again and again to drive Grantaire mad.

Finally, he draws back so that he can look down at Grantaire. The heat in his eyes makes Grantaire’s nerves tingle and ache for him. Enjolras’s gaze lingers on Grantaire’s cock— on the harsh red marks where he had scratched his cock.

“What’s this, love? Your fingernails?” His fingers stroke gently to soothe the reddened skin.

“Yes,” Grantaire groans. He arches into the touch.

“How was it?”

“Good, but I like your teeth better.”

“I know you do.” Enjolras turns to grab the little bottle of oil from the bedside table and then resettles himself between Grantaire’s legs. He rests his own fingernails against the inside of Grantaire’s knee and slowly but firmly scrapes them upward, stopping only when he reaches the crease between thigh and body. Grantaire feels his cock twitch in response.

“Come on,” he says. It comes out more breathily than he hoped. His desperation is encouraging to Enjolras, though, and within a few moments there are oil-slicked fingers teasing at his entrance. One slips inside him with all the gentleness of a cavalry saber, and he groans like he is dying. “More, please.”

“You have such nice manners when I hurt you,” says Enjolras. It is a little difficult for him to speak around his teeth, but he doesn’t try to control them, because he knows they arouse Grantaire. He adds a second finger and begins to thrust and twist them. This part doesn’t really hurt, but Grantaire is not so spoiled by the pain of Enjolras’s teeth that he can’t appreciate the pleasure of his fingers. “Ready for another?” Grantaire nods frantically, and lets out a desperate little whimper when Enjolras doesn’t immediately give it to him.

“Please,” he says. Immediately the third finger joins the first two inside him, stretching him enough to burn deliciously. The burn fades a little after a minute, but then Enjolras’s cock is pressing at his hole, promising something better.

His cock is large enough that Grantaire had thought it a result of what he is, at first. The truth is that it is just very good luck.

Grantaire has to close his eyes at the intensity of the cockhead stretching his rim wide. The stretch eases a little once it’s inside, but it keeps going on and on and on until Enjolras finally bottoms out. He feels deliciously full, and it is not enough.

“Bite me, please,” he asks. Enjolras raises an eyebrow that makes Grantaire want to scream with frustration. “Please, I need you to hurt me. I’ll do anything, please, just hurt me—“

“Shh. I’ve got you.”

Enjolras reaches up to thread his fingers into Grantaire’s hair. He tugs, hard and without warning, just as he begins to thrust inside Grantaire. His grip doesn’t relent even as his hips begin to move faster and harder and Grantaire begins to whimper with every small movement.

“More, please,” he breathes, arching into his lover. Enjolras’s body is cool and firm against him, clean and dry even though Grantaire is sweating with exertion. He does not even flush with arousal, except when Grantaire’s blood is coursing through his veins. It makes him seem perfect and distant— an appearance belied by his soft sounds and the way he clutches Grantaire to him even as he indulges his need for pain.

“Patience, love,” says Enjolras. His teeth seem even sharper now, if that is possible. He appeases Grantaire a little with a harsh scratch over his nipple and a particularly hard thrust to his sweet spot. 

Grantaire’s cock is painfully hard— one of the few pains that causes him more frustration than pleasure— and he cannot see what there is to wait for, but he considers doing as Enjolras says, if only because it pleases Enjolras when he does. 

Instead, he just lets loose all the helpless, needy whimpers he has been keeping inside, and hopes they will entice Enjolras to hurt him.

“I see what you’re doing, Grantaire,” Enjolras tells him, punctuating it with low sounds.

“Is it working?”

“Don’t you know by now? I cannot help but give you what you want.” He leans down to rest his open mouth on Grantaire’s throat. His sharp teeth press against the skin but do not break it.

“This isn’t what I want,” Grantaire complains. Enjolras reduces the pressure, making him whine. “Please, Enjolras? Please will you bite me?”

“I think I want to see you do it,” Enjolras murmurs into his throat.

“What?”

“I’ll stay right here, ready for you. All you need to do is press into me, like you did earlier.” Grantaire shivers. The idea is similar to riding Enjolras— something he found he quite enjoys. The problem is that Grantaire has never been able to hurt himself quite as much as he wants, some deep survival instinct preventing him from causing too much damage.

“I don’t know that I can,” he says sadly.

“I only ask you to try,” Enjolras says reassuringly. Grantaire takes a deep breath, which is difficult because Enjolras is still fucking hard into him. Perhaps he will be able to do this if he can surprise himself with it. He counts down in his mind, three, two—

Grantaire arches abruptly, pushing into the points on his throat. They pierce the skin, sliding in deep and sudden, and he screams. It hurts so, so much, and it feels incredible. He can still feel his cock jerking and the rough press of Enjolras inside him, but nothing compares to the sharp, terrible pain in his neck.

“Oh, oh, Enjolras,” he gasps. The first shock of agony is settling down into a steady throb in time with his quick pulse, and he can feel tears gathering in his eyes. He needs— needs something, but all he can say is “please.”

Enjolras’s only response is a long, satisfied sigh as he latches onto the wounds under his teeth. As he sucks the pain gets worse, pulling at the ragged edges of the bite, pulling the very life out of Grantaire. It becomes excruciating, and Grantaire can only sob and take it.

It is less than a minute before he comes all over himself, not a touch to his cock. Enjolras completely ignores this.

Instead, Enjolras just keeps fucking him through the overstimulation and drinking at a leisurely pace. The combination is some of the worst pain Grantaire has ever felt, and even though he just came he cannot get enough of it. Every exhale is a desperate noise; every inhale is a gasp. He has lost control of his own body.

A minute or maybe an age later, Enjolras withdraws his teeth with a gentle lick. “I’ve finished. Do you want to come again?”

What? Grantaire takes several seconds to realize that he is hard again, and Enjolras is softening inside him.

“I don’t know that I can,” he says.

“I’ve heard that before,” answers Enjolras. “Tell me if it becomes too much.” Grantaire nods.

Enjolras immediately bites down again, not so much actively drinking as pressing and digging in to cause as much pain as possible. Grantaire is only beginning to process this feeling when Enjolras’s hand wraps around his cock—

No, it isn’t wrapping around. Enjolras is positioning his fingernails on Grantaire’s swollen flesh. Grantaire whimpers with anticipation, and then again at the sensation. The scrape over these most intimate nerves was good when he did it himself, but nothing compared to how it feels from Enjolras’s hand. Enjolras seems to know, instinctively, the perfect pressure and rhythm to drive Grantaire wild with pleasure and pain without quite overwhelming him.

Then he sinks his teeth further in, deeper and deeper until his flat teeth are biting into Grantaire’s flesh as well. Grantaire arches, cries out, and comes hard enough to see whiteness encroaching on his vision.

As he comes down, Enjolras draws back. He lets Grantaire’s abused cock rest against his thigh as he wipes the come from his stomach. He strokes Grantaire’s hair gently as he licks up the blood running down Grantaire’s throat. He begins to lick around the bite marks—

“Stop,” says Grantaire.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras’s voice is full of concern.

“I’m fine, I just— I don’t want you to seal it. I want to keep this mark.”

“If I don’t it will be a long while before it stops bleeding,” Enjolras warns.

“I know. I want…”

“Tell me.”

“I want a mark that is as permanent as you are,” Grantaire says in a small voice. “Something I can’t lose.”

“Grantaire, you are not going to lose me. I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

But Enjolras does not close the bite.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire is drinking at the back of the Musain. As he lifts his bottle with his right hand, he fingers the two raised lumps of scar tissue with his left. The mark is reassuringly present, even when Enjolras is not.

“Congratulations,” says Courfeyrac, sliding into the seat beside him.

“What for?”

“I could smell the sex you had from the street. It must’ve been good.” Courfeyrac pauses. “You want to tell me the story?”

“This sex is the same sex I’ve been having with the god Apollo for the last month. Why now?”

“I like to be well-informed.”

“Ah,” Grantaire takes a long swallow of wine. “What you mean is, Enjolras is being gentlemanly and you want someone to tell you what he’s like in bed.”

“Will you tell?” Courfeyrac asks eagerly.

“Hm.” Grantaire drinks again, considering. “Forceful. Rough. Attentive.”

“Really?” he wonders, looking surprised. Grantaire understands the feeling; he had not expected the perfect agony in bed, either. “I suppose I understand it. With the strength of the passion he has for you, I’m rather surprised you remain human.”

“What?” 

“Oh, no, I did not mean—“ Courfeyrac speaks hastily, putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Of course he respects your decision to remain human, he would never choose for you. I simply meant that I did not expect you to deny his request to take possession of you.”

Grantaire freezes. He says, as neutrally as he can, “How long was it before Combeferre took possession of you?”

“Me?” Courfeyrac laughs. “Combeferre took me before he ever thought to take me.”

“Oh,” says Grantaire. His mind is running in circles; he does not know what to make of his own thoughts. 

“It is not so strange to be in love first. It was only after Jehan and Bahorel were together a week that Jehan made the offer.”

Combeferre decided to give Courfeyrac forever, even before they properly fell in love. Jehan was only really with the man he loved for a week before he decided to make him eternal. Combeferre’s decision proves that the change need not even be a promise of love, only the possibility of forever.

Enjolras has been with Grantaire for more than a month, and he has not even offered the choice of something permanent. Hot tears prick at his eyes and he presses hard at the marks on his throat, desperate for something that he knows will last. One day, he will die, and Enjolras will eventually forget about him, because he does not care enough to keep him.

“Grantaire? Are you alright?” Grantaire starts to nod, but he knows his friend deserves honesty. He turns to face Courfeyrac, but before he can speak— “Oh God, R! How could he do this to you?”

Grantaire blinks, rather stupidly. “Do what?”

“He bit you, R! He may be older than me, but I can still—“

“No, don’t!” Grantaire cries, once he understands. “I… I asked him to. I like when he does, it—“ It is humiliating to admit, but Grantaire cannot allow Enjolras to be hurt in his friend’s estimation. “It feels good to me.”

“If that isn’t the problem, then what is?” Courfeyrac seems only a little doubtful, which is good. Grantaire probably won’t have to admit to his desires again.

“He has made no offer,” he says miserably. He reaches for the bottle again, finishes the rest in a few swallows, and lays his head on the table. He tries very hard not to cry.

“Oh, R,” says Courfeyrac. He puts an arm around him and shields him from the rest of the world as he sobs.


	3. Chapter 3

Enjolras cannot quite understand why Courfeyrac is so angry with him.

“He loves you more than life itself, can’t you see that?”

“Yes, I know that. I love him too,” says Enjolras. Courfeyrac only seems the more incensed for his declaration.

“And yet you do not care about him enough to prove that to him!”

“Prove it? How?”

“Take possession of him. Change him.”

“He should not be changed, you know how cynical he is. What will the ages do to a mind already weary of life?”

“Do not tell me you are denying him this for his own good. You cannot make that choice for him.”

“He is too much unlike me—“

“Ah, yes, whenever Jehan and Bahorel walk into a room, I cannot but think, ‘What siamese twins these are! How alike, the Poet and the Flaneur, the Lover of Flowers and the Lawyer!’ Why, they might be one!”

“I told you once that we choose not only those whom we love, but who follow us.”

“He would follow you to death in a heartbeat.”

“But not to life. He will not believe in how I live.”

“Are you telling me—“ Courfeyrac’s voice has become deadly soft. “Are you telling me that if he will not follow your ideals, he deserves death?”

Enjolras is shocked and taken aback. This thought had not even entered his mind. “No, never.”

“Then offer him the choice. Now, before he decides you do not love him at all.”

“I do love him. More than anything but—“

“But your cause, I know. Can you not love both?”

“I can, and I do.”

“Show him.”

Enjolras leaves the room filled with purpose and determination. He goes directly to Grantaire, kisses him deeply, and offers him the choice.

Grantaire tells him no.


	4. Chapter 4

Denying what Grantaire wants so badly makes things strained between them for a while, but he doesn’t want it to be given to him simply because of Courfeyrac’s influence. He is grateful for Courfeyrac, but he wants Enjolras to make the choice.

After a while things settle down, returning to the easy rhythms. They sleep together almost every night, and have sex nearly as often. Enjolras doesn’t drink every time, but he figures out other ways to give Grantaire that perfect edge of pain. Grantaire is particularly fond of fingernail-scratches, wherever Enjolras chooses to bestow them.

Only occasionally does Grantaire reach his fingers up to his scar and touch it wistfully. Enjolras pretends he doesn’t see this and is glad of the fact that his kind do not have tears.

When Enjolras is not with Grantaire, he is being well distracted by the Revolution. It is drawing ever nearer, he can feel, and there is much planning to do. Barricades have to be plotted out, men have to be rallied, endless cartridges have to be made. Before long, Enjolras spends most of his time speechwriting and strategizing, and takes to bullet-making as a welcome respite when Combeferre notices that he is exhausting himself. Grantaire stays away from these sorts of meetings when he can; he does not want to watch his friends prepare to die.

The only time the two of them do speak of Revolution is when Enjolras arrives at Grantaire’s rooms after those meetings, burnt out and thirsty. When Enjolras is like this, he just slumps against Grantaire’s side and drinks without sucking, allowing the blood to pool slowly in his mouth before he swallows.

Grantaire strokes his hair and holds onto the fact that Enjolras needs him when he is like this.

When General Lamarque dies, Grantaire prepares for the end.

When Enjolras tries to protect Grantaire by sending him away from the barricade, Grantaire ignores him and braces himself.

When Grantaire awakens to find Enjolras faced with a dozen carbines, there is only one choice he can make. He follows.

He expects being shot to hurt. What he does not expect is to open his eyes a few hours later, parched with thirst, with a furious Enjolras looming over him.

“You fool! Bullets could hardly kill our kind, and I nearly lost you over a— a gesture! I could not bear that.” Grantaire struggles to sit up. He is too weak to do it, and he can feel the thirst in his entire body. His very veins are drying, he realizes.

“Should have done this sooner,” he croaks. Shot in the upper room of the Corinth, there was no Courfeyrac to push this decision on Enjolras. Enjolras made it himself, and Grantaire forgives him everything in a heartbeat.

“You are right,” says Enjolras. He is calming, now, as he watches Grantaire.

“Say that again?”

“You are right. I should have taken possession of you sooner, I knew you wanted me to, I did, I only thought— I did not think I would lose you.”

“Now you can’t.”

“No,” Enjolras agrees, smiling. Then he notices how thirsty Grantaire looks, and he pushes up his sleeve and bites down. Grantaire is surprised to notice how appealing the sight of blood is, though he thinks he should not be. He drinks eagerly, and feels the blood fill him with new strength.

“I love you,” he says when he is done.

“I love you too,” says Enjolras.

Grantaire finds that his scar is gone, but he does not need it anymore. He has Enjolras.


End file.
